Original subtitles

Long, long before Jesus.

Truly a lost one.

And it ends with them.

Your mama's house. and your country too.

Never allow yourself to love someone too deeply, Mr. Bates.

It will destroy you.

So you come

You have a case, Holmes.

Ha! The faculty of observation is certainly contagious.

It has enabled you at once to probe my secret. Yes, I have a case.

After a month of trivialities and stagnation, the wheels move once more.

Might I share it?

With little to share. We will discuss it after you consume those two hard

-boiled eggs with which our temporary caucus favoured us.

Their condition may not be unconnected with a copy of the Family Herald, which

observed yesterday on the hall table.

Even for a trivial matter as cooking an egg demands an attention, which is

incompatible with a love romance in that excellent periodical.

I hope Mrs. Hudson is enjoying her holiday.

You've heard of Neil Gibson, the Gold King?

You mean the American senator?

Well, he was senator of some western state.

He's better known as the greatest gold -mining magnate in the world.

Yes, I know of him.

Stayed in England for some time, didn't he? He was a conservative state enhancer

some five years ago. You may have heard of the tragic death of his wife.

That's why the name is familiar.

I know nothing of the details.

The fact is that the case, though exceedingly sensational, presents no

difficulty. The interesting personality of the accused, Miss Grace Dunbar,

Does not obscure the clearness of the evidence.

That is the view taken by the coroner's jury and also in the police court. This

is a thankless business, Watson.

I can discover facts, but I cannot change them.

Unless some new and entirely unexpected ones come to light, I do not see what my

client can hope for.

Your client?

I'm falling into your involved habit of telling a story back.

Let's read this verse.

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I cannot see the best woman God ever made go to her

death without doing all that is possible to save her.

I can't explain things. I can't even try to explain them. But I know beyond all

doubt that Miss Dunbar is innocent.

You know the facts. Who doesn't?

It has been the gossip of the country.

and never a voice raised for them.

It's the damned injustice of it all that makes me crazy.

That woman has a heart that wouldn't let her kill a fly.

Maybe I have a clue and don't know it. Anyway, all I know and all I have and

I am are for your use, if only you can save her.

You hardly have time to master all these cuttings. I must give it to you in a

nutshell if you're to take an intelligent interest in the proceedings.

Mr. Gibson, as I understand, is a man who married a Brazilian wife, of whom I

know nothing, said that she was past her prime, which was all the more

unfortunate as the very attractive governess superintended the education of

children. These are the three people concerned, seen as the grand old manor

house.

As for the tragedy, it takes place across a bridge over the lake, half a

from the house.

The wife was found late at night by a gamekeeper on that bridge.

She was carried in a dinner dress and a revolver bullet through her brain.

No weapon was found near her and there was no local clue as to her murder.

No weapon near her. Mark that, Watson.

Is this too condensed or can you follow it clearly?

No, no, no. It's all very clear.

Why suspect the governess?

In the first place, there was some very direct evidence.

The dead woman had a note upon her.

making an appointment at the bridge and signed by the governors.

Mr. Gibson sent his farm manager for the police and stayed with the body,

insisting that nothing should be removed until the police arrived just after 11.

Then there is the evidence of the revolver with one discharge chamber and

caliber which corresponded with the bullet.

Yes, sir, she's here.

It was found in the drawer of her wardrobe.

In the drawer of her wardrobe.

That's pretty damning.

So the two jewellers thought.

It is now referred to as the Assizes in Winchester.

And the motive?

Mr Gibson is a very attractive man.

If his wife dies...

Who more likely to succeed her than the young lady who had already, by all

accounts, received pressing attentions from her employer?

Love, fortune, power, all depending upon one middle -aged man.

Ugly. Very ugly.

Nor could she prove an alibi.

On the contrary, she had to admit that she was down to the bridge by nine o

'clock. A servant had seen her hurrying there.

Well, that really does seem final.

And yet, Watson, and yet... There's some mistake, and

that is our client, considerably before his time.

Gentleman to see, sir?

Mr Neil Gibson?

No, sir, not him. His name's Bates, and he looks a bit aggravated.

Thank you, Billy.

I have only a short time, Mr Bates. I know Mr Gibson is coming.

I am manager of his estate.

Mr. Holmes, he's a villain, an infernal villain. Strong words, Mr. Bates.

Well, I have to be emphatic, Mr. Holmes. The time's so limited. I'd not have him

find me here for the world.

And you're his manager.

Oh, I've given him notice.

In a couple of weeks, I shall have shaken off his cursed slavery.

He's a hard man, Mr. Holmes, hard to all about him. But his wife was his chief

victim. He was brutal to her. Oh, yes, sir, brutal.

Now, how she come by her death, I do not know. But let me tell you, he made her

life a misery.

She was a creature of the tropics.

A Brazilian by birth, as you no doubt know.

Yes, sir, I understand. Please continue, continue.

Tropical by birth, tropical by nature. She was a child of the sun.

And a passion.

She loved him as only such women can love.

We all felt for her.

Hated him for the way he treated her.

But he's plausible.

And cunning.

And that's all I have to tell you.

Don't take him at face value. There is more behind.

Now I'll go. No, please don't detain me. He's almost due.

Well, well, well. Mr. Gibson has a nice, loyal household.

The warning is a useful one.

This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson.

Now, let me say right here, Mr. Holmes, money is nothing to me in this business.

You can burn it. If it's any use in lighting you to the truth, this woman is

innocent. This woman has to be cleared. It's up to you to do it.

Now, name your figure. My professional charges are at a fixed rate.

I do not bear to them, save when I remit them altogether.

Well, if money makes no difference to you, think of the reputation.

If you pull this off, every newspaper in England and America will be booming.

You'll be the talk of two continents.

I do not think I'm in need of booming, Mr. Gibson.

Please, let us get on to the fact.

Well, you'll find most of the main ones in the press reports. I don't think I

can add much to them, but if there's anything you'd wish more light on, well,

I'm here to give it. Well, there is just one point.

What is it?

What are your exact relations with Miss Dunbar?

I suppose you are within your rights. You may be doing your duty in asking

a question, Mr. Holmes.

We would agree to suppose so.

Then I can assure you that our relations were always and entirely those of an

employer towards a young lady whom he never conversed with or even saw, save

when she was in the company of his children.

I'm rather the busy man, Mr. Gibson.

I don't have time or taste for aimless conversations.

I wish you good morning.

What the devil do you mean by this, Mr. Holmes?

Do you dismiss my case?

No, Mr. Gibson, I dismiss you.

The case is quite sufficiently complicated without the added difficulty

information. Meaning that I lied? I tried.

to express it as delicately as I could, but if you insist upon the word, I will

not contradict you.

Don't be noisy, Mr.

Gibson. I find after breakfast any argument most unsettling. I suggest a

stroll in the open air, and some quiet thought will be greatly to your

advantage.

I've broken stronger men than you, Mr. Holmes.

Nobody crosses me and gets the better of it.

So many have said so, yet here I am.

Ah, Watson, he has a great deal yet to learn.

How on earth do you know about his relationship with the governess?

Bluff, Watson, bluff.

I considered the passionate and unbusinesslike tone of his letter and

it with his manner and appearance.

It's pretty clear there was some deep emotion centred upon the accused woman

rather than the victim. I bluffed him by giving the impression that I was

absolutely certain of it. When in reality you were only suspicious.

Do you think he'll come back?

He is sure to come back.

We must come.

Oh, my dear Watson, I fear you will not improve any reputation I have acquired

by adding the Thorbridge and Mr.

to your annals. I fear I have made a serious misjudgment.

Holmes, the senator may not have returned, but surely his letter has

on behalf of Miss Dunbar.

She's the one in need.

Might we not pay her a visit in the cells of Winchester?

But we require the official permits.

we have the means to apply.

Of course, it may not be quite ethical, but practical.

Practical! I congratulate you.

You've solved our problem, Watson. Some officious little pipsqueak of a clerk

queried both the letter and our home office permits. He demanded a personal

authorization from Gibson himself.

But you sorted it out, only by the good fortune of meeting her lawyer, Mr.

Cummings. He's secured a brief audience with her. Mr. Joyce Cummings, a man with

a rising reputation that is certainly in her favor.

It really is provident to see you here, Mr. Holmes.

Her trial is in two days, and I really am at my wit's end to find any evidence

to state. She will admit to writing a note and giving a rendezvous with Mrs.

Gibson? She has little choice, but beyond that, I've advised her to reserve

defense. Quite so.

This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his colleague, Dr. Watson.

Your employer, Mr. Gibson, has engaged me to look into the unhappy matter.

Oh, I'm very grateful to Mr. Gibson.

It is incredible that the charge against me has been sustained.

I thought the whole thing would clear itself up in the police court.

My dear, I beg of you to have no illusions. Mr. Cummings here will assure

all the cards... Mr. Gibson is convinced of your innocence, but it would be a

cruel deception to pretend that you're not in very great danger.

I could conceal nothing.

What were the true relations between you and Mr. Gibson's wife?

Permit what? Permit!

How dare you break this liberty, Mr.

Holmes? Mr. Gibson, and you, Cummings, I did not engage you there to conspire.

Against me. These men are here under false pretenses. I did not authorize

visit. They're deceivers. I demand their removal. At once.

You've made a disturbance, Mr. Gibson, worthy of bedlam. I'll have you crushed

for this, Holmes.

Or it'll profit you nothing.

Mr. Holmes.

We are leaving, Superintendent.

Mr. Cummings. For the moment, Mr. Dunbar.

Mr. Ferguson.

There is an excellent exhibition of the museum across the street. I recommend it

to you.

The museum closes at five.

Copy of the lease of the Buckbroke Glassworkers, dated 1578.

These Huguenots, are they any relations of yours?

Possibly.

Monsieur Henri de Portal and his papermaking of Leverstoke.

They've had the manufacture of banknotes for over a hundred years.

It's good to know that there's money somewhere in your family.

Good afternoon, Mr. Ferguson.

Mr. Neil Gibson wishes to see you at Thor Place at 11 o 'clock tomorrow

This evening will be more convenient.

The morning.

11 o 'clock, Mr. Holmes.

Will the motor be sent for us?

There is a train which will take you to Thor Village.

Mr. Gibson is a busy man.

He expects punctuality.

How did you know that he was going to turn me in?

It would be enough of an impression upon Miss Dunbar to turn us back into

favour.

We are, after all, her only hope. Now, Watson, we must find a comfortable inn

for the night so that we can arrive punctually at your place at nine o

the morning.

I thought he said eleven.

Nine, Watson.

To meet Sergeant Coventry of the local police.

At all events, Mr. Holmes, I'd rather have you than Scotland Yard.

The Yard gets called into a case and the local loses all credit.

That may be blamed for failure.

Now, you play straight, so I've heard.

I need not appear to the matters at all. That's very handsome of you.

Your friend, Dr. Watson, can be trusted. I know.

Now, there is one question I'd like to ask you. I breathe it in no soul but

Don't you think there might be a case against Mr. Neil Gibson himself?

According to the therapy, he retired to his study after dinner...

I had no company at all until the alarm at 11.

As I've been considering, Mr. Gibson, these Americans are ready with their

pistols in our folk car.

It was this pistol, you know, one of a pair he had.

One of a pair?

Where is the other?

Well, these gentlemen have all kinds of firearms at once or another.

We never quite matched that particular pistol.

The box was made for two. Now!

is where the body lay.

I gathered from the press reports that the shot was fired at close quarters.

Very close, sir. Near the right temple?

Just behind it, sir. How did the body lie?

On the back, sir. No trace of a struggle. No mark. No weapons.

The short note from Miss Dunbar was clutched in her left hand.

Clutched? Yes, sir.

We could hardly open her fingers.

That is of the greatest importance.

It excluded the idea that anybody could have placed it there after death to

furnish a false clue.

What do you mean?

Now, the note, as I remember, was quite short.

Yes, I will be at Thorbridge, nine o 'clock, G. Dunbar. Wasn't that it?

So it was, sir.

The point of the note is obscured, it's not.

Well, sir, it seemed, if I may be bold as to say, sir, the only really clear

point in the whole case.

Assuming the note is genuine.

She certainly received it sometime before, say, an hour or two. Why was she

clasping it in her left hand?

She had no need to refer to it in the interview.

Doesn't that seem remarkable?

Well, sir, as you put it, perhaps it does.

That is curious.

Oh, yes, sir, we noted that.

I expect it's been done by some passerby.

It took some violence to do that.

It was a hard knock.

Not from above, but below.

You see, it's on the lower end of the parapet, Watson.

Yes. And in a direct line with the position of the body.

Probably of no matter.

No footprints, you say?

The ground was iron -hard, sir. No marks at all.

Then we had nothing more to learn here.

You are early, Mr. Holmes.

It is not on the case with punctuality, Mr. Ferguson.

Mr. Gibson is in a meeting.

He is not ready to see you.

I'll take care of him, Ferguson.

I'm very glad to see you, gentlemen.

As we are a little early, perhaps we could see the gunman.

A man who has his enemies.

Oh, yes.

If you knew him and his methods.

He sleeps with a loaded revolver in a drawer by his bed. He's a man of

sir. Have you ever seen him strike his wife?

Yes. More than once.

Our gold king does not seem to shine in private life.

That's the box that contained the murder weapon. It was one of a pair.

The other is missing.

Mr. Ferguson is sure to know that you're consorting with us. Does that hold no

alarm for you?

There's nothing he can do to hurt me now.

Perhaps he'd be so kind as to show us the school.

Where are the children?

Sent away on a visit to America.

All unhandy.

Their Brazilian heritage from their mother's side.

Miss Dunbar would seem to be a remarkable teacher.

The children doubted on her.

See what's in... The Riccardo Franco Hills.

See those unscalable cliffs, which tie with the foot of man and are never

touched, where monsters from the dawn of history might still roam.

That's Martins, the Indian hunter.

Now about him.

His victims, women and children.

Pitiful. Would you say that Maria Gibson was jealous of Miss Dunbar and her

influence over the children?

There was no love lost between them.

But that was because she could see her husband was under the lady's spell, too.

Get out of here, Bates!

Mr. Bates, his views are not relevant, Mr. Holmes. They're distorted by his

infatuation for my late wife.

Who knows, Mr. Gibson, what is and what is not relevant.

You're like a surgeon who wants every symptom before he can give a diagnosis.

There's only a patient who has reason in deceiving his surgeon who conceals the

facts.

I can assure you that the relations between Mr.

Barr and myself do not touch this case.

Oh, surely that is for me to decide.

Most men have a little private reserve in some corner of their souls where they

don't welcome intruders.

You burst suddenly into mine. What is it you want?

I

met

my wife when I was gold hunting in Brazil.

She was the daughter of a government official in Manaus.

Even now, as I look back with a colder eye, she had a rich passion of nature.

Tropical, ill -balanced, very different from the American women I'd known.

It was only when the romance had passed that I realized we had nothing,

absolutely nothing in common.

My love faded, but you know the wonderful way of women.

Do what I might, nothing could turn her from me.

If I've been harsh to her, even brutal, it was because I knew that if I could

kill her love or if it turned to hate, it would be easier for us both.

But nothing changed her.

She still adored me in these English woods as she had adored me 20 years

on the banks of the Amazon.

Then came Miss Dunbar.

She is also a very beautiful woman, and I'll admit to you that I could not live

under the same roof in daily contact with her without feeling a passionate

regard for her.

You blame me, Mr. Holmes? I don't blame you for feeling it. I should blame you

for expressing it, since she was under your protection.

Well, maybe so. I'm not pretending to be any better than I am.

I guess all my life I've been a man that reached out his hand for what he

wanted. I never wanted anything more than the love and possession of that

I told her so.

You did, did you?

I said if I could, I'd marry her.

But it was out of my power.

Money was no object. I'd do all I could to make her happy. Come.

Very generous of you.

Now, see here, Mr. Holmes, I came to you on a question of evidence, not morals.

I'm not asking for criticism.

It is only for the lady's sake that I take on this case at all.

Nothing that she is accused of is worse than what you yourself have admitted.

You tried to ruin the defense of this girl who was under your roof.

You know, some of you rich men must be taught...

But all the world cannot be bribed into condoning your offensives. That's how I

feel myself about it. Now, I thank God my plans did not work out.

She'd have none of it.

She wanted to leave the house instantly.

Why did she not?

Others were dependent upon her, and it was no light matter for her to let them

down.

When I'd sworn that she should never be molested again, she consented to stay.

But there was another reason.

She knew the influence that she had over me.

That it was stronger than any other influence in the world.

She wanted to use it for good.

You're cruel.

You destroy good people who can't stand up to you.

Not everyone shares your strength. Can't you see that?

You call it a fair fight.

But it isn't fair.

She saw it different.

She believed that a fortune for one man that was more than he needed should not

be built on 10 ,000 ruined men who were left without the means of life.

With your children, you show such tenderness and love.

Treat the world in the same way.

She found that I listened to what she said.

So she stayed.

And then this came along.

Mr. Gibson, can you throw any light upon it?

One explanation.

I give it to you, Mr. Holmes, for what it's worth.

There's no doubt that my wife was bitterly jealous.

She might have planned to murder Miss Dunbar or threaten her with a gun and so

frighten her into leaving us.

Maybe there was a scuffle.

The gun went off and shot the woman who held it.

Yes, it is a possibility.

It is the only alternative to deliberate murder.

But she utterly denies it. What is against such a supposition? Miss Dunbar

herself. You have just one day left before the trial.

You must grant me permission to visit her once more.

If ever in your life you showed your powers, Holmes, put them into this case.

Now.

But I cannot promise you that my conclusions will be such as you desire.

Come, Watson.

Several vital questions to ask this young lady.

And I must confess that the case would seem to be a very black one against her

if it were not for one thing.

What is that?

The finding of the pistol in her wardrobe.

That seems to be the most damning incident of all.

Not so, Watson.

It is my only firm ground for hope.

We must look for consistency.

Where there is a want of it, we must suspect deception.

Come on, Holmes.

Dunbar's depending on us. Morton.

Visualise yourself in the character of Miss Dunbar.

When a cold, premeditated fashion is about to get rid of her rival, what will

your actions and your thinking?

Well, I've written a note. The victim has come.

I've taken the weapon from the gunroom.

The crime is done.

Workman like and complete. And now the weapon.

Precisely.

Those depths would hide it forever.

Your best friend would hardly call you a schemer, yet I cannot picture you

carrying it home and putting it in your wardrobe, the very first place that

would be searched.

Mr. Alvaro, for example, she disdains all knowledge of it. You're saying that

was placed in her wardrobe, but by who? By someone who wished to incriminate

her. Ah, Cummings.

Ah, Mr. Barr.

We have had lengthy conversations with Mr. Gibson that he has informed us of

your relations with him and of your innocence in the matter.

But you need not pain yourself with that part of the story. But we do need to

know something of your feelings towards Mrs.

Gibson.

I had no wish to wrong Mrs. Gibson.

But she loved her husband so vividly in a physical sense.

That she could hardly understand the mental, even spiritual tie which held

to me.

Or imagine that it was only my desire to influence his powerful good which kept

me under his roof.

I can see now that I was wrong to stay.

Nothing could have justified me in remaining where I was a cause of such

unhappiness.

My client may be loath to mention it.

But she has managed to persuade Mr. Gibson to finance a mission of mercy to

resettle tribes, in particular the Bororo Indians, who have fallen victim

unscrupulous gold and rubber prospectors.

The venture is thriving.

We saw your pictures in the school.

Like so many of those warrior Indians, Mr. Gibson can sometimes give people a

misleading impression.

Now, Miss Dunbar, will you tell us exactly what happened that evening?

I received a note from Mrs. Gibson in the morning.

It implored me to meet her at the bridge after dinner.

This note, did you keep it?

No, she asked me to destroy it and to hide my answer at the sundial in the

garden.

I saw no reason for such secrecy, but she was very much afraid of her husband,

who treated her with a harshness for which I frequently reproached him.

I can only imagine that she did not wish him to know of our interview.

Yet she kept your reply very carefully.

Yes, I was surprised to hear she had it in her hand when she died.

Well, what happened then?

She was waiting for me.

So, you have come.

Never did I realize till that moment how much she hated me.

She was like a mad woman.

I think she was mad, with the deep power of deception which insane people may

have. You're cruel.

You have no heart.

You don't know how to love. You have no passion. How else could she have met me

with unconcern every day?

She was standing there on the bridge, shrieking her curses at me.

I curse the day that you were born!

And yet, presuming that you met a death shortly after you left, you heard no

shout.

No, I heard nothing. I was so agitated and horrified by a terrible outbreak

I rushed to get back to the peace of my own room.

I was incapable of noticing anything that happened.

Your own room.

Did you leave it again before the next morning?

Yes.

When they brought the poor creature back to the house.

Did Mr. Gibson seem to you much perturbed?

He is a very strong, self -contained man.

I do not think he would ever show his emotions on the surface.

But you?

Who knew him so well?

Yes, I could see that he was deeply concerned.

Now... We come to the all -important point.

The pistol that... found in your room. You'd never seen it before.

Never, I swear it.

When was it found?

Next morning, when the police made their search.

Yes, among your clothes.

Yes, at the bottom of my wardrobe in one of the drawers.

You cannot guess how long it had been there.

I could not have been there the morning before because I'd tidied out the

wardrobe. So you're suggesting that someone came into your room and placed

there in order to incriminate you?

It must have been so.

When? Um, when it could only have been at mealtime, or else during the hours

when I would be in the schoolroom with the children.

As you were when you received the note?

Yes, from that time onward for the whole morning.

Thank you, Mr. Dunbar.

Is there any other point which could help me in my investigation?

I can think of none.

Holmes, might I have a word with you in private?

Forgive me, Mr. Bell.

Holmes, I'd like to put you in my case for believing that Mr.

Gibran is the murderer of his wife.

We have a man who, by his own admission, is used to breaking people who stand in

his path.

But they missed on Barr, rejected him. Now, what better than to kill the one

incriminate the other?

To kill the two birds with the one stone, that's a big... You don't believe

Gibbsville's confession was so clear?

Wasn't it Bates who said he was plausible and cunning?

His confession was a clever means to put us off the fence. Think of it like

this.

He somehow discovers that his wife has arranged a meeting.

During the day, he takes two pistols from the box.

One he concealed in the door of her warden, after discharging one barrel,

he could easily do in the woods without attracting attention.

He is alone all that evening.

He sees Miss Dunbar return and grasps his opportunity.

He commits the deed and flings the murder weapon far into the lake.

I've been sluggish in mind, and wanting in that mixture of imagination and

reality with the laziness of my art.

You have put me entirely to shame.

You'll be hearing from me, Mr.

Cummings.

With the help of the God of Justice and my colleague Dr. Watson, I will give you

a case that will make England ring.

Mr. Dunbar, you have my assurance.

that the clouds are lifting, and the light of truth is breaking through the

clouds.

We need our good friend Carton Country, a bowl of stout wine, and a

grappling hook.

Grappling hook?

What? I have some recollection that you go armed on these little excursions of

ours. Just as well for you that I do. More than once, my revolver has been a

good friend to you.

And a little care of your own safety.

Yes, I am inclined to be absent -minded in these matters. Do you have your

revolver on you?

Heavy.

Remarkably heavy.

Solid bit of work.

You know, I believe this is going to have a very intimate connection with the

mystery that we're investigating. Would you mind unloading it?

Will you be at home, Mr. Gibson?

I should have some news for you.

You have half a day.

Mr. Holmes.

You have seen me miss my mark before, what?

I have an instinct for such things, but it has sometimes played me false.

We can but try.

We both tell exactly where the body lies.

Your theory about the Gold King, though admirable in its psychology, did not

quite adhere to the facts.

Visualize yourself in the character of a woman.

who in a cold, premeditated fashion is about to get rid of a rival.

I mean, of course, Mrs. Maria Gibson.

For all your deductions about Gibson being the perpetrator of this crime,

substitute his wife.

Imagine that it was she who took the pistols from the gun room, who fired

the single shot in the woods, who placed the gun in Miss Dunbar's wardrobe.

Cold.

Crafty.

Premeditated.

Down to the last detail.

Now for it.

Was that ever a more exact demonstration?

My revolver, Holmes.

A vindictive woman, a creature of the tropics, passionate, ill -balanced,

disguising her own crime and fastening a charge of murder upon an innocent

victim.

You have helped a remarkable woman and a formidable man.

And if it seems not unlikely they should join forces?

Naturally, I would wish them well.

Magnanimous of you, Watson.